


What Would You Say

by NarryEm



Series: One Direction Erotica/Fluff-fest/Wangst as written by EmilyY [7]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Police, F/M, M/M, Magic, Minor Violence, Police, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarryEm/pseuds/NarryEm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come closer. Closer. Closer. </p><p>Now look at me. Look very closely. The closer you are, the less you see. </p><p>What you think you see, you don't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Base upon/loosely inspired by the amazeballs movie _Now You See Me (2013)._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short story is loosely based on the movie _Now You See Me_ (2013)

The stage is silent, blood red curtains closed. The audience chat amongst themselves as they wait for the show to start. Most are either tourists or Londoners looking for entertainment on a Friday night. It's a full house and as Niall watches from behind the curtains, he whispers to himself: "Showtime."

 

All the lights blink out in unison and in the same moment, turn back on. The curtains are drawn but their performer is yet to show.

 "They say that magic is targeted deception," a lyrical Irish voice flows out from the speakers. "That it is nothin' but the illusion designed for amusement. But how is it really done? Am I playin' tricks or is this all real magic?"

 The lights black out again, when they reappear, a blond boy appears as well. He is suspended mid-air, sustained nothing but what looks like an ordinary soap bubble.

 "Now, you see, I've a different opinion," he continues, looking pensive as he floats downwards. "It is an art perfected by those, shall I say, gifted. Us who are gifted enough to see beyond the eye and use it to our advantage."

 Just as the boy is floating about ten feet above the stage, the bubble pops. The audience and the boy scream as he comets toward the ground. The moment he would hot the stage, the lights go out again.

The audience lets out a collective gasp and hold their breath until a spotlight lights up. It is pointing at a random seat in the middle of the seat, the blond boy smiling nonchalantly.

 "Whoever thought of that trick," he drawls bemusedly, "is a sick sadistic excuse of a human."

 The theatre bursts into a big round of applause and Niall smirks as he makes his way toward the stage once more.

 

 

-

 

 

"You went to Scotland for business trip?" Liam inquires. The man nods, gnawing on his bottom lip. "By yourself without your fiancée, am I correct?" He nods again.

The fiancée looks at her betrothed, interested on what Liam will say next. "For pleasure and business, eh? What's his name start with: a, b, c, d... Dale, is it? Closet gay and engage to a woman. Wow that must be tough for you!"

 The woman looks enraged. And so does the man. He grabs Liam by his shirt front and shakes him. "What game are you playing at, you little bugger?"

 "Something call the mentalism, sir. I get inside your head, it's that simple. Bit, if you want me to, I'll make her forget."

 "How much," the older man grits out.

 "Everything in your wallet, please. Even the three condoms, although I would say that you were being overly optimistic. "

 

 

-

 

 

 

Harry smiles at the girl, "Do you see your card in the deck?" He flips through his deck, slowly enough for her to actually have a close look.

 "No...." She giggles.

 "That's because you're looking too closely. I think we'll find it over there." The curly haired boy points at the skyscraper built by the river and sure enough, five of hearts is lit up on the side. The girl jumps up and down, excited that the trick really worked.

 "Wow, how'd you do that?" She purrs.

 "Trade secret, sorry," He smirks.

 "Wanna give me a private lesson?"

 

 

-

 

 

 

"Nothing is ever locked, not with me," Louis states. "You can bring me it and I'll open for you."

 He catches the eye of a young boy. "Got a sec, bud?" The boy nods. "Good, mind if I borrow your bike lock and chain?"

 He takes the chain and locks it up. He holds it up for the small crowd to see it. He then karate chops it on the lock, making it fall open. The crowd claps.

 Louis takes his bow.

 

 

-

 

 

 

As Niall is packing up for the night, he notices a tarot card lying on top of his stage clothes. It's The Tower and the back has Horus' Eye on it and an address just outside of London. Being the curious lad that he is he makes a note of showing up there by 4:44 , as dictated below the address.

  

This had better be worth his time.


	2. Chapter 2

Zayn smirks at the gathering crowd. He is an escapist, and today he is going to do his biggest stunt yet.

 “What you see here,” he explains, “is an ordinary coffin.” He knocks the surface to confirm. “In a minute, I will be locked inside and the crane will drop the coffin into the River Thames. There is maybe enough air in there for five minutes, assuming that air won’t leak through the cracks. My mission will be to magically disappear from the coffin before I am fully immersed in the river.”

 The crowd cheers and whoops. Some of them feel a twinge of fear for the handsome, tanned bloke. It would be a shame if all that beauty were to be gone for the sake of entertainment.

 The dark haired lad climbs into the sleek black coffin and his assistant (clad in a skimpy tuxedo bodysuit, of course) closes the lid. Then she nails the lid shut, making escape seemingly impossible.

 The digital timer next to them starts up, ticking loudly with each passing second. A crane hooks up the coffin and lifts it off the ground, thus beginning the descent down to the river.  On its way, the coffin is hidden from view for a couple of seconds by a pile of woods. The crowd gasps collectively when the coffin first makes contact with the water. Soon, the glossy black box is swallowed up by the water.

The minute is up, alerted by a shrill alarm. By then, the coffin is long gone from the view. The assistant is stood next to the dais that another assistant had brought, wearing the smirk as Zayn.

 Her smirk grows as she kneels down next to the dais, doing a little dance on her way down. She raises the top and when she does, they see Zayn rising from the dais. His hair isn’t even wet, neither are his clothes.

 “Thank you, London! You’ve been a wonderful audience.”

 As the crowd dissipates, Perrie, the assistant, snuggles to Zayn’s chest. “Did you see the look on their faces? Hilarious as fuck.”

“Yeah, good thing I’ve got it filmed from the tree over there.”

 They kiss sweetly and then set on packing up. Zayn is reaching down for his snapback when he sees a tarot card, The Sword. The back of it has the Horus’ Eye, an address and 4:44 on it.

 

“Hey, Perr? Can I take a rain cheque on our dinner date? Something just came up, sorry babe.”

 

 

♠

 

 

 

The girl throws herself at Harry, taking off her clothes on the fly. Harry can barely manage to keep up with the clothes that are strewn everywhere in his decently sized flat. They have made it to the couch, Harry’s bag of tricks thrown haplessly onto the hardwood floor. The girl—Hailee?—pushes him down to the leather couch and straddles him forcibly. Her lips are on Harry’s in a flash and attacking him feverishly.

 “So,” she purrs, “how’d you do it?”

“I bribed the electrician with forty quid.”

She flips her shortish brond hair [smack between and blond and light brown] to her right shoulder and pouts sexily. “I was asking about the trick, silly.”

“Like I told you, the closer you are, the easier it is to fool people.”

“Mm-hmm,” she murmurs, reaching behind to unhook her bra.

 Just then, Harry sees the contents of his worn brown suede messenger bad spilt out onto the floor. On top of his regular deck of cards and the top hat is a tarot card: The Lovers. It’s flipped to its side, the back showing the Horus’ Eye and 4:44.

 “I’m sorry,” Harry says abruptly, doing up the bra for her. “I just remember that I gotta go, erm, visit my mum. In Cheshire. ‘S a long drive so I gotta get going.”

“What?!” she shrieks.

“Yeah,” Harry throws on his shirt, handing Hailee hers. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I feel—feel so stupid!” she wails. “Throwing myself at you! It’s like hooking up with someone at a club when you’re pissed!”

“Eh,” Harry starts to mumble. He is slightly amused at how fast she is redressing herself and also offended by her choice of words. “I’ll call you.”

She smacks him in the middle of his broad tattoo-littered chest. “You don’t even know my number!”

“I’m a magician, I have my ways,” he calls out as she stomps out.

 He studies the tarot card. The address isn’t too faraway from his flat so he is definitely swinging by.

 

 

♠

 

 

 

Liam shoulders his Vans knapsack, done for the day. It’s fourteen, so it’s going to grow hotter and hotter by the minute. As he leaves, he notices a tarot card on the bench its been set on. It’s The Mind, the back showing the Horus’ Eye and today’s date along with an address.

 Since he hasn’t anything better to do, he decides he might as well go.

 

 

♠

 

 

 

Louis wraps up his conversation with the random bloke and packs up his satchel, pleased with the day’s earnings. He is about to go run for the bus when he notices a tarot card, the back emblazoned with the Horus’ Eye, an address, and today’s date and 4:44. Flipping it over, he sees that it’s The Joker.

  _Well,_ he muses, _I guess I have dinner plans now._

 

♠

 

 

Niall glances up at the plaque that displays the flat number, 713. He is waiting for the door to burn up, or turn into something, or just open.

 He isn’t expecting it when others show up.

 “ _YOU_?” a familiar deep British accent shouts in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

 Niall glares at the brunet disdainfully. “I could ask the same of you, ya cunt.”

Harry returns the glare. “Did you get a tarot card too?”

“Yeah, did you?”

He nods. “Didn’t know that they were recruiting assistants as well.”

“I’m not an assistant anymore, ya twat. I got meself me own stage and act, fuck you very much.”

“Oh yes, Niall Horan, the great bubble floater.”

 The two old flames continue to bicker as Liam arrives on scene.

 “Hullo,” he says politely.

“Oh my god!” Niall exclaims. “You’re Liam, the mentalist! I’m a big fan of yours!”

Liam smiles a million-pound smile. “Thank you, Niall. I’m a fan of yours as well.” He nods at Harry in acknowledgement. “Harry.”

“Hi, Liam,” he says guardedly.

 Zayn shows up then, an Ireland snapback perched atop his inky hair and wearing a loose grey tank top and black skinny jeans, complete with combat boots. “Looks like I’m not the only one who got the invite.”

“No, you are not,” Niall muses.

 They stand around awkwardly for a moment.

 “Aww, the party started without me?” a buoyant tenor voice calls out. Louis grins as he climbs up the last step of the spiralling staircase. He flashes them his The Joker card. Almost automatically, they show their own cards.

“The party ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘cause the door’s locked,” Niall grumbles.

“Nothin’s ever truly locked away,” Louis smirks. He takes out a paper clip and wiggles it inside the doorknob. The door clicks open and Louis swings it open, gesturing for the others to go inside.

 The interior is neat but covered with a fine layer of dust. In the centre of the living room/kitchen is a clear glass vase with a single red rose beside it. Harry picks it up, holding it to his nose to smell its sweet fragrance. He drops it into the vase and steps back, expecting something, anything, to happen.  The water level drops dramatically, oozing out onto the wooden floor of the flat. The water drips down into the pattern graved on the floor, vaguely resembling a winged scarab. The floor then cracks open, filling the room with wispy smoke.

 “Don’t worry,” Zayn says calmly. “’S just dry ice.”

 When the smoke dissolves into clearness, they can make out the winged scarab inscribed on the floor and a stack of paper in its centre. Then, from the walls, blue laser lights stream out from various positions, showing them a holographic structure of sorts.

 “What is it?” Louis inquires, awed.

 “It’s a blueprint,” Liam breathes, stepping up to touch one of them. The blueprint he touched zooms in on a specific room.

 “Of what?” Niall asks.

 

 

♠

 

 

“Hello, Dublin!” Niall greets the audience. “Welcome, welcome, welcome. We are One Direction and tonight, you’re in for quite a treat! Tonight will be a night you will never forget.”

The crowd erupts into a cheer and whistles.

“First, before we get to our main event, we would like to debunk a few of the common tricks that every magician knows,” Harry says, appearing from the stage floor via a trapdoor. “Of course, you might have known it before but nonetheless, we would like to show it to you.”

 They start off easily, with the white fluffy bunny and then the good old card tricks.

 “At the beginning,” Zayn says in his exotic, yet still Yorkshire accent, “we promised you a night that you will never forget. So let’s get to it!”

 “Tonight,” Louis announces, “we’re going to rob a bank!”

 “We’re going to pick a person and transport them to their bank, wherever that is,” Liam explains.

 With practised synch, the other three disperse among the front row. “Section H,” Niall announces, holding the Styrofoam ball that an audience member has just picked out.

 “Row 19,” Harry calls out.

 “And seat 2,” Zayn concludes.

 “Section H, row 19, seat 2, please stand up!” Liam says.

 A middle-aged Swiss man stands up, smiling.

 “Sir, come out to the stage please,” Louis asks.

 “What’s your name?” Niall asks.

“Jean-Pierre,” the man replies.

“Ooh, French,” Louis muses.

“Swiss, actually.”

“Home of chocolate and yodelling, nice!” Harry jokes. “I’m assuming that your bank account is with _La Banque nationale suisse_ , then?”

“ _Oui._ ”

“We will put this transportation helmet,” Liam says, waving at the helmet that Zayn is carrying over to them, “and then transport you to your vault in Geneva.”

 Zayn puts the helmet on the balding, beer-bellied man, guiding him onto the strange device. He is placed on the transportation device. Without a warning, Niall presses a button on the side and the device clamps shut with a sickened clang of metal on metal.

 “Ooh, that’s gonna leave a mark,” Louis jokes.

 The screen behind them lights up, showing Jean-Pierre in a vault.

 “Jean-Pierre, can you hear us?” Liam asks.

_“Oui, c’est bizarre! J’suis dans ma banque!’_

“Awesome, is that your money you see in the middle of the vault?” Harry asks.

_“Oui.”_

“How much do you have?” Zayn queries.

“Two million.”

“Wow, two million, that’s a lot,” Harry drawls. “In your pocket, you should find a card, the jack of Hearts.”

Jean-Pierre checks his pocket, fishing out the dictated card.

“With the pen also in your pocket, I’d like for you to sign it. In English, _s’il vous plait.”_ Louis instructs.

“ _Et maintenant?”_

“Put it on top of the money, please,” commands Liam.

The Swiss man does as he is told.

 “On the side of your helmet, there is a small round switch. Could you press it please, and activate the air vacuum?” Niall orders.

He finds the switch and pressed it; instantly, the room is full of flying bills as they flop about midair. Then, they are sucked into one of the air vents in the ceiling.

 “D’you hear that?” Niall wonders, holding his cupped hand to his ear.

 Surely enough, the auditorium is filled with flapping noises. The first Euro falls onto the stage, right next to Liam’s left foot. But the rests go flying everywhere. Everyone stands up, trying to catch as many of the free-falling Euros as they can.

 “Thank you! That’s it for the show and we are One Direction!”


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m sorry, what?” Josh demands into his mobile, climbing out of his glossy red Mercedes-Benz.

“I’m tellin’ ya, boss, that a group of magicians robbed the Swiss National Bank this evening,” Sandy, his lieutenant and also the chief of field officers insists into the receiver.

 Josh rolls his eyes. In his five years of detective work in Dublin, this has to be the most pretentious and blasphemous thing he has ever heard. “Magicians pull bunnies out of their hats, not go ‘round robbing banks.”

“But these ones did. They called up some bloke from the audience, asked him about his bank and bam, transported him to Geneva and nicked the two million right under his nose.”

The detective scoffs. “That’s mental, mate. Okay, I’m getting on the lift now. Arrest those magicians so that we can interrogate them, then.”

“Already on it, boss.”

 

 

♠

 

 

 

 

“This doesn’t make any damn sense,” Josh mutters, replaying the taped performance of this group of magicians who are calling themselves One Direction.

“Shame, since I was hoping that you could tell us what to do.” Jon, his the second-in-command to Officer Beales jokes.

“The vent could not have connected Geneva to Dublin; that’s geographically impossible. The money arrived within seconds,” Josh muses.

“Two million of ‘em,” Sandy quips.

“Two point six, actually,” a new voice corrects.

 The three men turn to face the new voice. The sharp feminine voice belongs to a pretty girl with dark hair pulled into a tight bun and icy blue-tinged green eyes. It’s shadowed with a heavy southern France accent, giving her a falsified sweet tone at first.

 “Agent Caron, from the Interpol,” she introduces herself. “The official reports say that Monsieur Leclerc has lost two point six million Euros after the magic show, not taking into account the money he had gambled away in the casino fifty miles away from the theatre.”

“That’s just brilliant. And have you any lead to this? We should interview the victim.”

“Which would be useless,” Caron interjects.

“Dublin is my city; we do things my way.”

 They make their way to the interview rooms. The entire time, Caron wears a smug smile that Jon and Sandy wants to question but doesn’t for the sake of their arses.

 “Monsieur Leclerc,” Josh greets. “I understand that you have been robbed by a group of magicians.”

The middle-aged man’s eyes are slightly dilated, cheeks flushed. “It was _magique_. A real one!”

Caron smirks. “As you can see, our main witness is absolutely convinced that what has happened tonight is real magic. He won’t be much a use seeing that he won’t state otherwise. Shall we move on to the perpetrators?”

 Josh grits his teeth. One up for the French girlie, none for him.

 

 

♠

 

 

 

“Did you know,” Niall smirks, playing with the handcuffs that are securing his wrists to the interrogation desk. “That magic has been practiced long before the Ancient Egyptian times? There are records, just not as substantial as the ones kept by the Egyptians. They were the real geniuses who refined the tricks an’ stuff, or is it genii?” he laughs at his own wonderment.

“Did you or did you not rob Leclerc’s vault?” Josh asks harshly, leaning forwards while letting his arm muscles bulge out. It is one of the intimidation tactics he has learnt within the first month of police work. You get into the suspect’s personal bubble as much as humanly possible and they start to get nervous. Being close proximity of a police tends to straighten up certain people, and it certain does wonders in these situations.

 “It was magic, Detective Devine,” replies Niall coolly, cocking an eyebrow. “Simple as that.”

 Caron clears her throat, signal for Josh to speed things up.

 “You know that there are consequences of robbing a bank, yeah? Legal consequences. If you’re honest with now, we’ll let you off the hook easy, being your first offense and all. I’ll say maybe two years in jail and some community service for eighteen months.

“You know that you’ll be gettin’ more or less the same answers from all five of us, yeah?” Niall retorts, leaning closer as well. Close enough for Josh to squirm internally and smell Niall’s aftershave: sandalwood with a whiff of something more musky. Perhaps amber?

 Josh shook himself out of his thoughts. Now was the time for hard-core questioning, not unintentional drunken flirting seen at some bar in the godforsaken hours of the morning.

 By the way Niall is full-fledged grinning Josh can tell that the bottle-blonde hasn’t missed the slight change in Josh’s warm brown eyes.  “First rule of magic: Always be the smartest guy in the room,” Niall sneers.

 Before Josh can decipher what Niall could have meant, there’s a sudden tightness around his own wrists and he sees that the handcuffs on Niall’s wrists has transferred to his own.

 “The hell?” he spits out.

 Caron steps forward to help, but is bewildered when she sees that the key that has been set on the desk has disappeared.   Niall jerks his chin towards the unopened Pepsi can.

 Caron opens the can and pours out its contents. “Oh,” Niall exclaims, picking up Josh’s BlackBerry. “Can’t let that go to waste.”

 Once the detective’s hands are free once again, he gestures for Niall to hand over his mobile.

 The Interpol agent smiles at Josh as they exit Niall’s room. “One down, four more to go.”

 

 

♠

 

 

 

“Knew that they couldn’t keep us detained without solid evidence,” Louis crows, skipping down the steps that lead down the police building.

“Detaining would mean that they actually believe in magic, which I suppose is a big no-no in the world of big bad coppers,” Liam explains, but that doesn’t stop the smugness creeping into his tone

“Right you are, Leeymo,” Zayn singsongs, jokingly grabbing his jaw and planting a wet kiss on his flushing cheeks. Out of all five of them, Liam is the most straight-laced one, pun fully intended.

 “So what’s next?” Harry asks cheerfully, subconsciously leaning into his right, where Niall is walking beside him a step behind.

 Liam looks at them in turn. “Phase two, of course.”

 

 

♠

 

 

 

Josh paces back and forth in his house. Granted, he lives alone but the pay when you work in the law enforcements is quite great, especially if you are one of the top rated detectives in the country.

 Five fucking magicians robbing a bank. Outrageous! But the witnesses and the evidences don’t lie; not unless they have somehow managed to merge in computer generated images and/or videos into the live-action filmed videos. And the videos have been filmed in a multitude of angels: from the ceiling, from the audience’s vantage view, from the balcony seat, everywhere. There is no way that the thing has been rigged, all five of them.

 He is about to call it a night (or is it morning? It is, after all, three in the goddamn morning) when his personal mobile rings.

 “Josh Devine,” he greets.

“Detective,” Agent Caron’s voice rings through the speaker.

“How did you get my personal number?”

“Monsieur Shones gave me it quite willingly. I’m afraid we have no time to spare, detective.”

“And why might that be?”

“They are boarding a plane to Nice, France, as we speak. It will be about five hours, on the business class seat. I suggest that you pack light; seems as thought One Direction will be making more than one stop in continental Europe.”

 Josh groans. So much for that shower.

 

 

♠

 

 

“ _Bienvenue à Nice. Votre . . ._ ” Josh tunes out rest of the directions. He follows Caron to the luggage claim swiftly and takes his small suitcase, only filled with essentials. Agent Caron, however, is hauling a large Louis Vuitton off the conveyer belt.

“What happened to packing lightly?” he smirks, reaching out to steady her by the waist.

“ _This is the French definition of packing lightly,” she retorts, slapping away his hands._

 _Feisty,_ he comments in his head.

 They exit the airport and find their French reception. Caron talks to them in rapid French, a few words falling onto Josh’s ears. After the debriefing, Caron explains to Josh that One Direction have a show in the evening at Théâtre Lino Ventura. Josh can vaguely learning in grade school how that is the second biggest theatre in Nice, France.

 

 

 

♠

 

 

 

“ _Bienvenue, Nice. Nous nous appelons_ One Direction _et ce soir, il sera inoubliable!_ ” Niall speaks into the headset, throwing his carefree smile at the hundreds of French girls who are swooning at the sight. The Irish accent makes his French sound funny, but in a way that he knows is sexy. He also knows that all of them dressed in black suits is quite the sight.

 “Tonight,” Zayn relays, “we will be pulling a stunt that is even better than last night’s.”

 “But first off,” Harry says, winking cheekily at the crowd, “we will start off easy with some common tricks.

 Louis wheels out a box with Liam, whose head and feet are poking out from each end of the box. “I will cut him in pieces. But instead of the normal ‘I’ll cut him in half’, I will cut him in four pieces. There will be four equal pieces of Liam in a few moments.”

 Liam grimaces in mock horror.

 “But while they get ready,” Niall announces, barely holding in his laughter at Liam’s face, “we will do some other tricks for y’all.”

 Harry stands in front of Niall, glancing back to make sure that the blond is ready. Niall smiles brightly, nodding almost imperceptibly. Harry jumps about five feet into the air at the same instant that Niall brings his hands together and then parts them, creating a human-sized soap bubble. The soap bubble closes around Harry, making him float upwards and away from the centre stage. Off on the side stage, Louis and Liam are getting ready for their cutting box trick whilst Zayn is off on the opposite side, carefully watching where Harry is. Harry and the bubble float closer and close to the top chandelier. The moment the bubble makes contact with the sharp edge, he pops loudly. Harry falls gracefully, landing on Niall and Zayn’s awaiting arms.

 Once the crowd’s attention is on him, Louis cuts Liam in half at first, letting the visual information sink in. then he cuts Liam across his chest, right below his heart. Then above his knees. Liam makes a show of wiggles his toes and moving his head, confirming that it’s not just a mannequin in the box. They put Liam back together and help him out of the box.

 “And now,” Liam says in a grave tone. “The main event.”


	4. Chapter 4

The crowd goes deathly quiet as Niall throws a black cape-looking fabric over the stage. He sashays all across the raised platform before it settles at the centre. The cape shimmies down and reveals a seemingly plain cardboard poster that is entirely blank.

 “What you see here is a blank, blown-up bank cheque,” Niall explains.

“And if you look under your seats,” Harry takes over, “you will find blank cheques of your own. And there will be specialised torches just for this.”

 The five magicians smirks in that gorgeous way of theirs as each member of the audience reached under their seats to take out the blank cheque and torches. Liam and Louis make their way towards the other three. If the audience looked closer, they would see the sly way Liam and Louis’ fingertips brushed against each other.

 “Now, before we get down to business,” Liam says, “we would like to show our gratitude to our wonderful and ever-so-generous benefactor, Mr Simon Cowell.”

“Uncle Simon,” Louis continues, “would you kindly do us the honour of coming down to the stage with us?”

 A spotlight searches out Simon and trains on him, momentarily blinding him with bright white light. The middle aged man in a rather tight shirt—too tight for his age group, as one might graciously add—smiles and stands up descend the stairs.

 When he is one the stage, Niall pulls him in for a giant bear hug. The man returns the hug, albeit a touch awkwardly. Liam pats his back as they beak their hug.

 “Now, Uncle Si, I gotta a kinda personal question,” Louis starts with a serious tone that doesn’t suit his personality. “Do you mind telling us how much you have in your bank account?”

“Which one?” Simon asks, laughing.

“The one in this continent, if possible please,” Zayn jokes, winking.

 “A hundred and twenty million pounds, give or take a few thousand.”

 Louis wolf-whistles. “Wow. That’s more than all of us in this theatre combined will make in our lifetime!”

“I suppose. The record label helps.”

“Right. The famous SyCo.” Louis says in a thoughtful tone.

 “So, let’s get to it.” Niall says, clapping once. “Do we have a Marie Swan in the audience?”

 A young woman with African ethnicity and long inky hair stands up.

 “Marie,” Harry practically purrs, curling his tongue with a French accent. “Do you mind telling us how much you have in you bank?”

 As soon as she opens her mouth to answer, Liam interrupts. “Actually no. Could you count from one to ten?”

“One, two, three—”

“Stop, please. Does your balance start with three?” Liam asks.

“Yes.”

“Count again, please. But faster.”

“One, two, threefourfivesixseven—”

“Three thousand and seven hundred-something, yes?”

“You’re right!”

“Again please?”

“One, two, three, four, fivesixseveneight—”

“Three thousand seven hundred and eighty six, am I right?”

“Wow, you’re good!”

“Thank you, love; so do you confirm that you do have three thousand and seven hundred eighty-six pounds in your bank account?”

“I sure do.”

 “Good.”

 Liam gives Louis a little signal and the shorter lad turns to Zayn, who is holding the cheque. “Simon,” Zayn starts, “Could you please shine this special”—Niall and Harry hand over a giant torch to Simon. “torch over the cheque please? I swear, we won’t set it on fire. Yet.”

 The audience laughs good-naturedly. Even Simon does so. With a grunt, he takes the torch and swings it around, shining the light over the white cardboard. Gradually, grey scribbles appear over it, which in turn becomes black printed letters and numbers.

 “You actually have a hundred and twenty million five thousand and ninety-six pounds and sixty-nine pence as of today,” Harry says, throwing a wink at the crowd.

 “Oh wait,” Zayn exclaims, “I think it’s quite not right. Marie, dear, do you think you can shine the torch over your cheque please?”

 Doubtful, Marie shines the torch over her cheque. Words and numbers appear and instead of the three thousand and seven hundred and eighty six pounds she has reports, the number that shows is three million and three thousand seven hundred and eighty six!

 “No freakin’ way!” she shouts, almost jumping up and down with excitement.

“Simon, could you do the same with your cheque?” Liam asks, eyes crinkling with smile.

 Frowning slightly, the man does as he is bid. The numbers fade out and refocus, showing three less million.

 “Antoine Belmont, could you stand up please?” Liam asks. A wiry man with messy blond hair and pale skin stands up.

“How much do you have?” Zayn queries.

“’Bout two grand.”

Niall makes a buzzer sound. “I think you should check your cheque.”

 He obeys and his eyes bulge out when five million is added onto what he expected.

 Soon everyone is jumping up from their seats waving their cheques. Screams of millions of pounds echo off the theatre walls.

 One Direction take their bows and leave. But not before saluting Simon sarcastically.

 

 

♠

 

 

 

“How the hell did they do this?!” Josh asks no-one in particular. “We were in the front-middle row the entire time!”

 Agent Caron, au contraire, is calm-faced. “It’s called _magique_ , Monsieur Devine, whether you like it or not. Now, we have to go.”

“Go where?”

“Investigate the crime scene, of course.”

 

 

♠

 

 

 

“I don’t think they are amateur enough to return to the crime scene, Agent Caron,” Josh sneers.

“ _Non,_ but we can determine what kind of chemicals they were using by taking samples—drugs specifically.”

 Josh nearly jumps out of his skin. “Drugs? You think drugs were involved?”

 “ _Oui_ ,” she says without even batting an eyelash. “In the ancient times, it wasn’t uncommon for the magicians and priest to ingest highly effective and dangerous hallucinogen for communing with the divine powers or to perform. That was often how some priest believed that they were seeing the future, or that they were becoming one with their beloved deities. Now, I’m not saying outright that our perpetrators may be using drugs. But there is a chance that they played with the ventilation system so that the audience, as well as themselves would be—shall we say---more open-minded. And susceptible to mind tricks.”

 “So you think that they may have drugged us.”

“As you Anglophones say, in a nutshell, yes.”

 Josh resists his urge to roll his eyes. “By default, you are suggesting that we were sort of drugged.”

“Quite possibly. Don’t act so prissy, monsieur. I’m sure in your youth, you’ve had your time experimenting.”

 Josh is gobsmacked. Of course, he was young, reckless, and stupid once. But that doesn’t mean that he wants this smart-arse of a French agent to know about that!

 Indignant and fuming silently, he follows Caron into the police car.

 

Half an hour later, they arrive at the venue. From the entrance, Caron starts taking samples of the dirt, the plant leaves, everything. Josh, trying not to be out-staged, does the same. They have talked to the administrators beforehand so gaining access to the backstage area as well as the entire theatre is a piece of cake.

 The inside is deserted, lights gone out and silent as a ghost town. He has to admit, Agent Caron is a formidable detective, although she will be accredited for half of this case. And she is also sort of beautiful too.

 Josh wants to slap himself in the face for that one.

 Work and heart should be two very separate things. He has learnt that a long time ago.

 Caron makes a triumphant sound, hauling Josh out of his involuntary trip down the memory lane.

 “See this?” she asks, holding up a gloved finger.

“What exactly am I seeing?” he challenges.

“Traces of finely milled powder. The particles look and feel too smooth to be of cocaine or crystal methamphetamine. We will have to send it to a lab for verification but I am fairly certain that this is the drug that they used.”

 Josh peers at the sooty grey substance. It does indeed look extremely fine to look like dust particles or some common drug bought off the streets.

 He hates it when other people, especially the people he doesn’t like nor trust, are right.


	5. Chapter 5

Niall laughs rambunctiously. He may be a bit high on the powder thingy that they snuck in the air ventilation system back in the theatre but he can’t bring himself to care.

 The five of them are in their Range Rover, on their way to their flat. They’re currently underwater in the tunnel that connects the UK to mainland Europe. Louis is driving—about ten miles below the speed limit, Niall should add—and Liam is sat right in the passenger seat. Liam occasionally leans over to whisper whatever into the older boy’s ear.

 _They must be blind,_ Niall thinks absentmindedly as he watches Zayn dose off next to him. Both Liam and Louis are so head-over-heels for each other yet neither are able to see it, or feel for that matter. He has seen Zayn shake his head at the love-struck idiots at least five hundred times since they have come together.  Just as he has caught himself staring at Harry about five hundred times by now.

Niall shakes his head, as thought the physical jerk of his head will help him clear his mind.

 A couple seats over, Harry has a glazed-over glint in his eyes as he is thinking of the same thoughts as the Irish blond. He still has some feelings for Niall; he just wishes that Niall doesn’t still hate him for all those years ago.

 

 

_“I can’t believe it,” Niall fumed, stomping all over their craphole of a flat. “You fuckin’ did it again!”_

_“Babe, I—“ Harry starts but shuts up because he is bound to say something stuoid again._

_He always does._

_“G’ on, then,” Niall snarls. “G’ on and spin a tale about how you accidentally landed your big mouth on that slag’s.”_

_“It was an accident, Ni—”_

_His next words were quite literally punched off his mouth. Niall’s pale fist collided with his mouth and Harry’s head snapped to the side from the impact. He pokes out his tongue, tasting the disgustingly metallic taste of his own blood, mixed with spit. Niall didn’t even give him a chance to recover as he choke-slammed the younger boy to the scratchy surface of the carpeted floor. The backs of Harry’s knees burned as he felt the carpet-burns form on the thin skin. Niall didn’t relent as he let loose another punch, this time straight to his solar plexus. Harry coughed weakly as Niall punched him again, on his brow bone this time._

_He let Niall do whatever. He knew that he deserved this; no, he deserved far worse than this for what he had been putting Niall through. He deserved to be dragged down the street naked and then dunked in the Thames a thousand times until his lungs were burning with the foul water._

_A few stray tears fell and when he blinked them away, Niall was long gone._

 

 

“—ry? Harry?” the same Irish brogue from his memories says, splashing Harry with a fresh wave of reality. “We’re here now. Time for the next phase.”

 Harry nods.

 He is not fond of the next set of orders they have to follow.

 “Why am I the one who has to do this again?” Harry whines, pouting adorably.

“Because you are the person who’s, y’know,” Zayn shrugs, “the best actor out of the lot of us?”

“The fact that you’re phrasing it like a half-arsed question doesn’t reassure me that this is the best plan we’ve got.”

Liam glances back. “It’ll work out, Harry. I promise.”

Zayn laughs, all crinkly-eyes. “Ah, Styles, suck it up and be a man about it.”

 It had better work out because the stakes were sky-high at the moment.

 Quite literally life or death, as a matter of fact.

 

 

♠ 

 

 

“Team one, cover all the exits, team two, go up the stairs, team three, you’re coming with me into the flat,” Josh barks out. “And you, Mademoiselle Caron, are staying right here in the squad car.”

“And why is that, Monsieur Devine?” Caron asks.

“First off, this is strictly British affairs, and second, I don’t even know your first name. And third—”

“Sophie-Athène,” Caron interrupts.

“Pardon?”

“My full name’s Sophie-Athène Caron.”

 Josh is so stunned that he is actually rendered speechless for a moment.

 “Okay, Sophie-Athène, I still can’t let you come inside with me on the principal of chivalry and the possibility of dangers inside.”

The French agent scoffs. Quicker than Josh’s warm browns eyes can follow, Sophie-Athène has him pinned to the backrest of the car, his face squished to the headrest. There is a cold pressure against his temple, which cannot be anything other than a semi-automatic.

 “Still think that I’m a sweet girl who can’t handle a little tussle?” she whispers into his ear.

Josh shakes his head dutifully.

“ _Bon garçon_ ,” she says, and Josh remembers enough French to know that she just said ‘good boy’.

It should be way more insulting but with a gun pointed at his brain, he chooses to let it slide.  The teams check their gun chambers to double-check that it won’t run out of rubber bullets and also to make sure that they are rubber [I know that British cops don’t use guns but I’m gonna put a Canadian/American spin to this. Besides, rubber bullets only give you super painful bruises]. After the final check-ups, they divvy up into teams and go in.

 The entire complex is silent. Josh tilts his head to signal the other two teams to spread out and cover all bases. He leads his own team plus Sophie-Athène to the flat number 713. Half of them go via the lift while the other half run up the stairs, that ways they can’t miss anyone.

 They bust the door open and sweep in, flaring out in all directions instantly.

 From the far corner of the living room, Harry is perched on the cramped space above the mantelpiece, balancing precariously on the tiny corner of the ceiling. He has a bunch of paper clenched between his teeth. There are random but organised drawings on them, all interspersed with short phrases all over the drawings.

 Just as Harry is getting ready to leap down, there’s a distinct sound of the Range Rover starting up mere metres from the main entrance to the complex. Harry smiles; that was his cue to start his part of the plan. He waits until Detective Devine is stood directly beneath him, the absurd gun held out in front of him.. his grip doesn’t waver as he sweeps the entire space (what is thereof) and watches everything carefully.

Harry jumps down, landing smack on the detective’s shoulders and then proceeding to flatten him to the ground. His cop’s reflexes in full swing, Josh stands up and knocks the teenager off his chest. But Harry has had some experience in the streets, and streets-style mixed martial arts is a speciality of his. The younger boy cashes in a few quick jabs at the detective’s shoulders, followed by a slash kick. The young detective seizes Harry’s leg and uses it as a lever to push Harry backwards and fall flat on his bum. Harry recovers quickly and springs himself up on his feet again, arching his back in a feline manner and using the momentum to sweep the detective’s feet out from under him. The detective curses loudly as he goes down. Harry aims a quick kick at his lower ribs before he bolts off. The curly brunet swings himself out the window, sliding down the fire escape elegantly; Josh is hot on his heels. They scurry down the narrow steps, both of them almost falling off at least half a dozen times.

 When Harry’s large feet touch down on the asphalt, he immediately takes off. There is a sleek Mercedes ten feet in front of him. Like something out of Grand Theft Auto, he invites himself in and thanks his few lucky stars that the idiot of an owner has let the car keys in; hot-wiring it would have taken ages. He revs up the engine and drives off, but not before flipping the bird at a fuming Josh.

Josh stands at his spot glaring at the car that is jetting off.  A few moments later, a squad car skids into a hasty stop right next to in.  Sophie-Athène's head pops out of the car window and she order, “Hop in, Josh.” to which his complies.

“I hope that the driver doesn’t mind that a Frenchie is driving his squad car,” Josh jokes.

“He certainly didn’t mind the kiss I gave him,” Sophie-Athène says curtly, too serious to be joking back.

 Harry doesn’t waste a second to join the infamous, busy-bee traffic of London. He cuts through the thick crowd of cars and heads straight into the highway that can lead to anywhere in the whole kingdom. 

Once on the highway, it’s like trying to chase an overly energised puppy when it’s got a rib-eye in its mouth. Harry’s vehicle keeps weaving in and out of Josh and Sophie-Athène’s line of vision. For a couple seconds, the SUV disappears in front of a large freight truck, reappearing in the next moment.  And at that precise moment, the car does a three-sixty, spinning mid-air for a suspended moment. It crashes just as quickly, catching fire as the gas leaks out of the engine.

 “Holy fuck,” Josh mutters. He parks illegally on the side curb of the highway and gets out. Sophie-Athène has her mobile pressed to her ear, speaking in rapid English for the medic to dispatch an ambulance and a fire truck their way. By the time the emergency team shows up on scene, the flames have swallowed up the entirety of the car, the car now resembling nothing more than a pile of molten metal and leather.

 “Fuck,” Josh says again.

 

 

♠

 

 

 

“Today we lost a valuable member of our team,” Niall says sombrely. His deep ocean blue eyes are shining and bluer than normal, full of unshed tears—or at least emotions. He and his mates were rising out of the top of the building, in a column of laser lights.

“But Harry Styles will forever be remembered as our cheeky, curly-haired brother who never lost that damned smile of his, or that way he took your heart without you realising it.” Liam continued, more than half their bodies now visible to the gathered and growing crowd.

“And that is why we are dedicating tonight’s performance to him, also our final show ever,” Louis says, taking Liam’s hand in his for a brief second before letting go.

“Without further adieu, let’s get to it!” Zayn announces, garnering a roar of cheers from the audience.

 “ _NOW!_ ” Josh bellows, diving forward at the four fit figures.

 The police team grab at their individual target and land on the roof. Only then do they realise that they are holding onto mannequins.

 “And that is why you shouldn’t mess with us magicians,” Niall’s voice rings out from another rooftop, directly opposite from the police.

 “Thank you so much for your support, London!” Louis says, lifting his hand in an army salute.

“We love you and see you on the flip side!” Zayn says.

 The four of them link hands and run to the edge of the roof. With a glance and nod at each other, they jump off the edge and fall straight down. But when their foot disconnects from the roof, their bodies turn into millions and millions of pound bills. The winds scatter the bills around and people laugh and shriek with joy, running around to catching as many as they can.

 “They’re fake,” Sophie-Athène informs, appearing next to Josh.

 Josh crouches on the ground and picks one up. It is, indeed, counterfeit money, all stylised with some Egyptian symbol.

 His mobile rings, and Josh fishes his out of his back pocket. “Yes?” he all but snarls into the receiver end.

 “Erm, boss?” Jon says, a bit scared now. “There’s been another, eh, robbery at the mayor’s house.”

“WHAT?!”

“Mayor Robson’s house’s been robbed and they took the safe, and left behind the lock part.”

“But the safe was there when we checked it his afternoon!”

“Yeah; and now it’s gone.”

“Bloody hell,” Josh curses. To Sophie-Athène he says, “Mayor’s been robbed. We have to go check them now.”

“Lead the way, then.”

 

 

♠

 

 

 

“It’s another trick of theirs,” Sophie-Athène declares.

“I beg your pardon?” Josh asks, aghast.

“You know that bunny box trick?”

“Yes, they have a mirror in there to fake emptiness.”

“Same principle. They installed a large mirror to cover a wall in the library so that it would appear that the safe had gone. They left a replica of the lock to fool us.”

“Then,” Josh concludes,” that means that someone had to have gone back to steal the actual safe. Who could have done that?”

“Someone who could go unnoticed; someone that no-one would have expected to be around.”

 

 

♠

 

 

 

“That made my night. ‘Ell, that made my entire life!”

 Zayn claps Harry on the back. “How’s it feel to be a dead man walking?”

He shrugs. “Pretty normal. Now that the final part of our initiation is done, what do we do?”

Liam spares them a glance from the passenger seat. “Dunno.”

Niall grunts. “Whatever happens now, I’m glad that I met you. And you,” he scoots over so that his thigh is on top of Harry’s. “I’m glad that I got the chance to do this.”

 Before Harry’s brain can register what is going on, Niall’s soft and warm lips are upon his. His sweet lips pry Harry’s open and stick in his tongue, exploring the familiar territory. In the back of his mind, Harry can hear the lads cheering them on and Liam’s half-hearted, ‘get a freakin’ room.’

 “Wow,” Harry breathes out when Niall’s lips free him.

“You’re still not entirely forgiven,” Niall warns. “That was to let you know what you been missin’ for the last year and a half.”

 As Harry is working to get out of the pleasant daze Niall’s unexpected kiss has brought on, they arrive at their final destination.

 It’s an abandoned theme park by the Thames, the front gates rusty and creaky as Louis pushes it open tentatively. There is a indoor merry-go-round right opposite the entrance. Liam reaches for Louis’ hand and they hold onto each others’ hand for comfort and security. Niall saunters forward to the building and discovers that the walls are coated with mirroring paint.

 “Welcome, to all of you,” a feminine voice says. All five of them startle at the voice, Liam being the worst. The lights flick on inside the merry-go-round and Zayn’s eyes widen in shock.

 “Perrie?” Zayn gasps out.

“Hey, Zaynie,” she says softly. “Surprise.”

“You’re part of The Eye?”

“Damn right. It’s a generation thing. My father was in it and he put me on a mission to find five others who are worthy of the title of being in The Eye. Every couple years, the Masters search for fresh blood into our society and I knew that Zayn was more than a handsome escapist who had my heart. I’ve also been keeping an eye on the rest of you, even back when Harry and Niall were travelling ‘round Dublin with their nightly magic shows. I hereby present you with the membership of The Eye. Should you choose to accept, you have to uphold the Code and live by it. If you decline, we have a mighty hypnotist of our own— _petite moi_ —to make you forget everything before you received the card. We have ways to make the cops forget that you five committed grave crimes as well. So whether you accept or not, you still will live a normal life. You will be amongst the ranks of greatest magicians to ever walk the Earth. Houdini is, of course, part of The Eye. He is one of the rare few who had actively sought us out, not that we weren’t thinking of including him.

So, do you: Zayn Malik, Niall Horan, Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson and Liam Payne, accept to become The Eye?”

 The five of them exchange quick glances and smiles. They all know what their answers are.

 

 

♠

 

 

 

Magic is all around us. And the closer you stare at us to figure out our tricks, the less you see.

 Look around you. You just missed us.

 We’re The Eye. We’re the elites of magicians and the keepers of the Old Ways.

 What would you say if you knew what we know.

 


End file.
